


string me up, two or three

by stilahey



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Trans Male Character, brief dave/klaus, expect klaus-typical behaviour i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 15:25:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18034280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilahey/pseuds/stilahey
Summary: Memories that always make him smile—regardless of whatever mood he may be in or whatever drugs he’s pumped into his system—are his varying tales of coming out, often interwoven with adorable childhood antics andgenuinemoments of Hargreeves family fun.Klaus wastenwhen he first realised he was gay.(alternatively; six times klaus comes out to his siblings, one by one, and six times they accept him for who he is— still an annoying asshole.)





	string me up, two or three

**Author's Note:**

> tw for like, drugs + alcohol usage and an implied suicide attempt.
> 
> anyways wassup welcome to my first tua fic, im sad and i love the hargreeves family. this is mostly fluffy garbage, hope u enjoy! <3
> 
> (title is taken from [_trees - mccafferty_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DR5qGk45WI), a Very klaus song through and through)

i.

“The Séance”, or _Number Four_ as he tends to be known, has found himself constantly noting down the importance of varying numbers in his life. It’s no surprise, given that he was labelled with nothing but a singular number for most of his childhood, and it’s something that he finds a little hard to shake still.

He’s accustomed himself to discussing numbers in the letter form, y’know, writing them out fully instead of just writing the actual number. It’s instinctual, to write “ _Five_ ” instead of “ _5_ ”, to capitalise certain numbers, to say them out loud with the infliction that implies every number is actually a word— a label _,_ a _rank_.

Numbers continue to play a significant part in Klaus’ life, even after he received a real name. They all have actual names now, him and his siblings— save for Five, who is _still_ Five. It’s not a rank anymore though, it’s his _name_ , and everyone is happy to call him that for as long as he wants them too (even if it’s kinda weird, but he’s fucking weird in general, so whatever).

But Klaus still finds himself thinking back on significant parts of his life through age specifically, the _number_ part; he ties all his memories to the age of when they happened, and then he logs them away in a chronological filing cabinet in his brain for safekeeping and easy access. It’s simpler that way, he’s used to it.

Some of the metaphorical folders have little metaphorical tags on them, bright red stickers reading “ _important!_ ” poking out from the openings, and some of them are lying on the floor _surrounding_ the filing cabinet; tattered and ripped, dirty, the label on them reading “ _forget about this_ ” and the shoeprint marks showing that Klaus has tried to kick them behind the cabinet where he never has to see them again.

Those ones open sometimes, involuntarily, and he finds himself reliving the moments of his life that he really wishes he could forget— to which he makes more memories, to try and cover the ones he doesn’t want, and the new memories usually end up being thrown into the discard pile too.

The good folders though, the _important_ ones, the valuable memories of actual love and good times, are slotted sporadically between boring and irrelevant folders; reminding Klaus that there was often something good happening between all the absolute bullshittery of his life, he just had to _find_ it.

Memories that always make him smile—regardless of whatever mood he may be in or whatever drugs he’s pumped into his system—are his varying tales of coming out, often interwoven with adorable childhood antics and _genuine_ moments of Hargreeves family fun.

Klaus was _ten_ when he first realised he was gay.

 

ii.

Klaus is currently sitting in Ben’s room, listening to the radio hum static after trying and failing to tune it right, both of them quickly giving up. They’re rifling through some chocolate, stuff that they’d bought while they were out of the house every now and then, and now they’re hiding it all in the bottom drawer of Ben’s desk because no one would dare think to look there.

Ben’s a good boy, the _best_ ; unlike Klaus, who hides mildly questionable objects in his bedroom, including but not limited to cigarettes, painkillers, bottles of alcohol— Diego’s no better, with the suspicious amount of _knives_ he hides in his desk drawers (Klaus was snooping around for candy, which was of course tucked away in the top drawer, not hidden well at all).

Training was hard today, and Klaus is _tired_ — physically and mentally. As if exercising and exerting himself in physical training wasn’t enough for their dear father, Klaus was also subjected to extra training that he’s _positive_ the rest of his siblings aren’t, like being locked in a fucking mausoleum for five hours.

It’s late, he’s tired, and he kinda wants to cry. It’s actually a wonder he still has tears left, after the day he’s had. What a fucking perfect life for a ten-year-old, _huh_?

Still, when Klaus had wandered to Ben’s room late in the evening, past dinnertime, he’d knocked on the door sheepishly and shuffled in as soon as Ben had opened it for him. He’d stared at the floor, at the walls, at the fairy lights hanging around Ben’s bed. Anywhere but actually at his brother— he couldn’t risk it, worried that the sight of a _living_ human being would send him spiralling into hysteria.

Klaus is a loose cannon currently; emotional, scared, stressed, his eyes are red and gross and he’s certain that Ben knew he’s been crying all day because it’s fucking obvious to literally anyone.

That’s why they’re sitting here now, wrapped up in comfy blankets and surrounded by pillows, working through a seemingly endless pile of chocolate as they flick through some teen mags that Klaus had previously _borrowed—_ not _stolen—_ from Allison’s room.

After so many pages of the same kinda stuff, useless interviews and gossip about celebrities that neither of them know because they don’t keep up with frequent television, posters of boybands that would certainly seem to fit in on Allison’s bedroom wall, quizzes offering such life-changing valuable information like “who is your future celeb husband?”; Klaus finds himself feeling like he needs to ask something important, something that’s been nagging at his brain for a while now.

It’s a simple question, naïve and sweet and laced with a seriousness that Klaus has probably never exhibited before. Everyone is used to him being wild, crazy, the designated problem child of the group— more-so than Five, somehow. So his tenderness, his genuine hesitance when he fidgets with his fingers and avoids Ben’s inquisitive stare, is something completely new.

“Do you think boys are allowed to like other boys?” He asks, finally.

He chose the wording carefully, making sure to drive home what it is he’s actually asking, what it is he’s trying to figure out— because he knows he _can_ like boys, and he _does_ , he thinks, he just needs to know if that’s _okay_.

(He won’t ask if it’s _normal_ , because he’s far from normal as it is, they _all_ are, so that doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.)

Ben blinks at him, confused almost, and then stares up at the ceiling as he hums to himself. Eventually he looks back down, and shrugs casually while giving Klaus a lazy grin.

“You can do whatever you want,” he offers, “no one can stop you.”

Klaus smiles wide, previous bad mood quickly dissipating, and applies that advice to pretty much everything else in his life too— sorry, dad. ( _Thanks, Ben_.)

He knows it was casual and vague, but it’s not like he wasn’t serious, because he _was_ ; he knew he liked boys, he knew that the stuff he saw on tv wasn’t applicable to him— he and his siblings would sneak in some hours of television (the live action tween shows, the stupid dramatic sitcom ones, Allison _loved_ those and Diego hated them) when they were _positive_ their dad was busy; which turned out be a lot more often than they thought.

Allison would point out cute boys, though the actors were probably older than they all expected, but she’d gush and sigh and try to get Vanya involved in the fun— _try_ being the key word here, because Vanya didn’t react at all, not seeming to care much for boys yet.

(At thirty, Klaus has long realised that the “ _yet_ ” didn’t apply, and that Vanya has never cared for boys ever.)

Klaus, however, was always silently involved and playing along with Allison’s wistful little games. He’d agree with her when she’d talk about finding one of the actors cute, and he’d watch the romance plots of the shows unravel with general disinterest. It wasn’t important to him at all, there was no relatability there, nothing drawing him to the girls and boys holding hands and Allison _aww_ -ing at it.

She had dramatically sighed, rolling onto her stomach and propping her head in her hands, commenting “ _I’d like a boyfriend one day_ ”, and Klaus found himself finally beginning to understand— “ _me too_ ”, he almost whispered back.

When he’s twelve, when he’s surer of what it is he’s saying and what he’s actually talking about, Klaus comes out again. _Properly_ , this time. He almost doesn’t remember the first time, back when he was ten, because he feels like it probably didn’t count as a coming out; just a mildly confused kid asking a simple question.

But now he’s older, _a little_ — two years is a big adjustment, alright? He’s learnt a lot of new things, including an expanse to his vocabulary; one word in particular sticks out to him, and Klaus feels incredibly confident in saying that he’s _gay_. He’s sure of it.

The Umbrella Academy as a group are more popular now too, _famous_ in a weird way, and with it comes along a lot of stuff that Klaus doesn’t particularly mind at first; the interviews in tween magazines, the photoshoots, the kids show appearances and the interviews on tv and radio— so he’s a stickler for attention, what can he say?

It gets tiring _super_ fast.

They’re twelve, and while Klaus is certainly interested in boys that look pretty and wanting to hold their hands, he doesn’t see why relationships have to be the _main_ fucking question of every interview they ever do. It always gets dropped in at some point, asking the boys if they have any girls they like, and it’s _ridiculous_.

He doesn’t get it, either, why Luther gets asked about the details of his workout routine, and Diego is asked about his hopes and dreams for the future; while Allison is questioned on her celebrity crush, and Klaus himself is asked about his nail polish (the interviewer had laughed, calling it a “ _girly thing to do_ ”. When his brothers had all painted their own nails, _poorly_ , for their next television appearance, no one dared bring it up).

After so many times of being asked about girls, Klaus quickly realises he’s sick of it. He’s bored, he’s run out of answers and ways to lie, because it just doesn’t apply to him. He understands the questions, he knows the kind of feelings he’s being interrogated on— he just doesn’t have them for _girls_.

He answers with a blasé shrug of his shoulders and a casual wave of his hand, makes something up about how he’s “ _too preoccupied with talking to the dead to focus on a relationship_ ”, and it’s actually sorta true in some ways. The interviewer laughs almost nervously, maybe recognising the dismissal in his tone, and moves on to ask Five about his powers.

If any of the others had sense his distaste and general apathy during the interview, they don’t comment.

Except, _of course_ , for Ben, who shoots Klaus a _look_ as soon as they return home. It’s a look that Klaus is used to, concerned but nagging, just screaming “ _talk to me_ ”— and Klaus does, because it’s _Ben_ , and he’s the only one so far that he feels comfortable sharing this with.

They’re alone, and Klaus’ bedroom is silent, _suffocating_ , so he heaves out a sigh before he speaks.

“I’m gay.”

Ben blinks at him for a few seconds until his lip twitches.

“Hi gay, I’m—”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Klaus interrupts with a laugh.

It’s so dumb, _so_ fucking stupid, but he continues to giggle as he moves to sit down on his bed. Ben only smiles back at him, and as soon as Klaus is wrapped up in his blankets, he shuffles over and throws himself down on the available space.

“You already told me this, y’know,” Ben’s voice is slurred and muffled against the pillow, “but for what it’s worth, I’m still proud of you.”

Klaus lets himself fall back onto his bed to lie down, and finds a smile growing on his face.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “thanks, Ben.”

“Any time, gay.”

Klaus smacks him with the heaviest pillow he can reach.

 

iii.

It goes without saying that Ben keeps Klaus’ secret and he does an _incredible_ job with it. He only makes like, five _billion_ jokes a day about Klaus being gay, but it’s between the two of them and that’s all that matters.

They’re all currently inside the donut shop, after sneaking out— though Klaus doesn’t know how much it can be considered “ _sneaking out_ ” when the truth is that it’s pretty easy for them to just walk out the door, their dad not moving from his office in weeks, saying he’s “ _too busy_ ” to even say good night to them. It’s typical, Klaus is used to it by now and he thinks everyone else is too.

The five of them are squashed into a round booth, and Klaus has Vanya sitting on one side of him and Ben on the other. There’s five of them, notably, because Allison and Diego are not sitting at all and are actually _fighting_ in the middle of the store. There’re hardly any customers, late enough at night that the only people around are content enough to mind their own business and pay no attention to the two kids yelling and grabbing at each other.

Klaus doesn’t even remember what they’re fighting about, but it’s probably something dumb or maybe nothing at all— Allison puts Diego into a confident headlock and he _seriously_ struggles to break free.

“Ah _ha_!” She lets him go after a few more seconds, and throws her hands in the air victoriously, “I _told_ you I could beat you in a fight! You owe me three donuts.”

Right, right, _that’s_ what it was, a bet. Klaus grins at Five’s brief look of disgust as he watches a sweaty Allison slide back into the booth, letting her breathing regulate and sighing to herself as she flicks open the menu.

“I _waaaant_ … a raspberry jelly, Boston cream, and sprinkles—” she glances towards the floor, “Diego, are you even listening?”

Vanya giggles then, quiet and unsure of herself as if she’s not _allowed_ to laugh, and Klaus quickly turns to smile at her, to try and be reassuring; she’s here, she’s _family_ , she deserves this. He might buy her a few extra donuts to take home, not like he has the cash for it, but Ben would certainly help contribute.

Speaking of, Ben is currently falling _asleep_ , his arms crossed on the table and his head resting lazily atop them. His eyelids flicker like he’s trying his best to keep them open, and Klaus smirks.

“ _Beeeeen_ , hey, Ben,” he flicks at his forehead until he hears an annoyed tut, “wake up man, we just got here. Do you want some coffee?”

“I could go for some coffee,” Five interrupts, and Klaus snorts.

Diego joins them back in the booth, squeezing his way onto the end of an already tight fit, and everyone shuffles closer together to let him in. Even Luther, who seems increasingly annoyed at all of their shenanigans, makes some room.

It’s a good night so far, even with the lack of food that Klaus is undoubtedly craving; the more he thinks about it and the more he has to sit here and smell other donuts, the more he feels himself growing restless. Junk food is a rarity in their household, so this is a much-needed escape for all of them, getting the sugar fix they didn’t even realise they were missing until they had it for the first time.

Klaus is having a lot of fun—

“Hey, are you guys ready to order?”

—and it just keeps getting _better_.

Their waiter is— he’s _something_. He’s smiling at them, gaze flicking between each sibling and Klaus feels his heart skip a beat when those brown eyes meet his. Time either slows down, or the guy really does look at Klaus for a _little_ bit longer than he did everyone else, but he guesses he’s just being optimistic and is definitely imagining the upwards quirk of his lips.

Diego starts to talk, reeling off his own order and then Allison’s—there’s a tiny “ _ow!_ ” in the middle of it that makes Klaus suspect more fighting—and then it’s on to Luther.

Klaus has 100% stopped listening by this point. Their waiter is beautiful.

He’s new here— they’ve all visited the donut place often enough to recognize and _be recognized_ by the staff, and Klaus would _definitely_ remember a cute guy. He does _vaguely_ remember a conversation he had with Agnes the last time they were here, because he and Five always take a few minutes longer than everyone else to leave; Five says he likes to “ _appreciate the coffee_ ” or some bullshit.

Agnes had ruffled their hair, a motion that Klaus leaned into while Five had leaned away, and she started to excitedly discuss her nephew coming over to work in the store— “ _he’s the same age as all of you_ ,” she added on, and Klaus had nodded along like he cared.

He does care, for real now, and it makes him wish he had listened the first time Agnes had talked about him, because he’s not wearing a nametag and doesn’t seem to have any other labels on his uniform and—

“ _Klaus_ ,” Diego kicks Klaus’ shin under the table. _Hard_.

“ _What the fuck_?” He hisses, and he’s about to kick back until he hears a cute laugh come from outside their booth.

 _God_ , this boy is mesmerising.

“I said,” the guy stops laughing, but tilts his head with a small grin, “what would you like to order?”

His eyes sparkle almost, and his smile doesn’t falter for even a second as Klaus stares up at him in what is probably awe. Klaus knows he _obviously_ looks lovestruck, so he shakes his head and snaps himself out of it.

“Uhh, _shit_ ,” he blinks at the menu and then turns to Vanya, “did you order already?”

She nods, offering a quiet “ _strawberry jelly_ ”, and Klaus gives her a thumbs up. Vanya can get nervous in big social settings, instantly going silent and hiding away from the attention, and the thought that it might be because she isn’t _used_ to socialising makes Klaus’ heart ache with something similar to _guilt_ ; he pushes that thought aside for now and turns back to the waiter, smiling when their eyes meet again.

“Okay, I’ll get a strawberry jelly and a chocolate sprinkle, my good sir.” He dramatically closes the menu and grins, “oh! And some coffee for my sleepy brother here.”

Klaus pinches Ben’s arm, snorts at the small “ _fuck off_ ” he gets in response, and then lets himself zone out as Ben and Five order whatever it is they’re getting. More coffee for Five, presumably, though it’s a very easy assumption to make— literally _all_ he drinks is coffee. He eats weird peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches and he drinks black coffee. _Strange_ is an understatement, and that’s coming from _Klaus_ of all people.

Their donuts and drinks get brought to their table a little while after the waiter leaves, and unfortunately for Klaus it’s a different member of staff that brings all their shit over. She’s old, Klaus recognizes her and could probably place a name but he also doesn’t care enough to bother. He’s polite though, he’s still a good boy, _of course_ , and says thanks regardless.

After all, this place is one of their few escapes from the shithole that is their “ _home_ ”, and Klaus might be a troublemaker and a bit of a bastard—he almost laughs, labelling himself as a _bit_ of a bastard—but he likes it here and their donuts are also to _die_ for. Five compliments their coffee too, which he never does anywhere else, so it _must_ be good; Klaus can’t tell, coffee is coffee, he’s _thirteen_ — what kind of palette for coffee is he supposed to have? Five is a freak, more-so than the rest of them.

It’s getting late, maybe a little _too_ late, they could be cutting it close with sneaking back into the house— but Luther is happily occupied talking to Allison, and Diego is seemingly content as he listens in, so if none of them are worried then it’s all fine. They’re still on perfect schedule.

Vanya eats her single donut silently, amused and pleased with just her own company, and Klaus is glad he bought that second one for her because she’s _such_ a slow eater. Luther has had five, _five_ whole donuts in the time that Vanya has only eaten _half_ of one, so at least she’ll have a treat tomorrow.

Klaus feels that recurring feeling of restlessness start to creep into his body, perhaps with the late time of evening or maybe just _because_. His leg jitters under the table as his foot taps repeatedly, something he didn’t even realise he was doing until literally just now, and there’s a tingling in his fingers that he has to try and stop while he’s ahead. Letting this shit sink further would be rather unfortunate.

He pushes his empty plate towards the middle of the table and then huffs, kicking the side of his foot against Ben’s.

“Get up Benny Boy, I’m going for a smoke,” he nudges Ben again with his shoulder, “come on, move it. Five too, up _up_ , let’s go.”

They both groan loudly, Ben tired and Five just annoyed—as he usually _always_ is—but they get up regardless and motion for him to hurry up as he shuffles slowly out of the booth. He’s doing it to be dramatic, taking _agonizingly_ slow steps, and he tries not to laugh when Five ungraciously shoves him towards the back door.

The cold air is refreshing, waking him up instantly, but there’s still an itch under his skin and he feels himself clawing for a cigarette. He’d prefer something more, feels that _need_ settling in, but for a public place and one he frequents often— a simple hit of nicotine will keep him going for a while.

He doesn’t bother to react to the footsteps behind him, expectant of them by now after so many times of sneaking out for smoke breaks, and instead focuses on pulling the cigarette packet out of the front pocket of his shorts, fumbling clumsily to pull one out while Ben and Five start a quiet conversation between themselves.

His lighter clicks uselessly for a few seconds, flame flickering weakly until finally settling and actually doing what it’s fucking supposed to do. The first drag is perfect, comforting, and Klaus grins as he spins around to face his brothers.

Ben is leaning against the wall, one leg bent and his foot resting against the concrete, and Klaus would _usually_ take the time to interrupt and tell him he looks like an asshole; for now he forgets about it, just relaxes as he smokes, and lets the two of them talk as he feigns disinterest and acts like he _isn’t_ trying to eavesdrop.

Klaus can’t even be bothered to argue when Five steps forward and snatches his cigarette out of his hand, pulling it casually from between his fingers and taking a small hit before passing it back. He breathes the smoke out effortlessly, a simple exhale, like he didn’t just suddenly reveal that he _smokes_. Klaus knows everything about the family’s little quirks and habits; he knows that Vanya plays with her hair when she’s nervous, that Diego’s stutter is worse when he’s scared, that Ben has chronic nightmares and likes to sleep with plushies— he didn’t know that Five smoked.

And Five seems to gather that, if his smug little shit-eating grin is anything to go by. Ben only shrugs it off, not at all that bothered, and turns to look at Klaus.

“You like that waiter boy, right?” He asks, tone slightly teasing, and Klaus rolls his eyes.

Klaus knows a lot about his family, but some of them (read: _Ben_ ) know a lot about him, too.

Five, however, doesn’t know this, and Ben immediately realises that at the same time as Klaus. Where Ben panics, shock washing over his face as his eyes go wide, Klaus casually takes a purposely slow drag of his cigarette and lets the silence sit for a few more seconds.

(He needs the silence to think, needs the pause to gather more time, to figure out what the _fuck_ he’s supposed to do next. He won’t blame Ben, it’s not his fault, Klaus is just at a loss.)

Five only shoves his hands into his pockets, expression neutral.

“Yeah,” Klaus eventually breathes, letting the smoke out on the same exhale, “he’s cute. He’s our age, too, but whatever.”

There’s a laugh then, from Five, and Ben quickly shifts his eyes towards him in concern. Klaus appreciates that, the protectiveness seeping out, but Klaus _thankfully_ recognizes Five’s laugh as a real laugh— one of his genuine giggles, and not one of his awfully well-practiced _mocking_ types of laugh.

“Dating always seems to be completely out of the picture for us, wouldn’t you agree?” He questions, and then shrugs as he continues, “it’d be hard to have a boyfriend in the public eye.”

The sentiment is there _somewhere_ , Klaus thinks, something caring hidden deep down under those layers of brash seriousness and general rudeness. Five is a good person, beneath the sarcasm and the bluntness and the overall asshole-ish nature of his personality. He tries, _sometimes_ , and that’s appreciated.

It’s not like Klaus expected this conversation to go any other way, because it’s not going _bad_ , which is all he could ever wish for really. He drops his cigarette butt to the ground, stomping it out easily with the toe of his worn converse, and then stretches his arms above his head lazily. His bones crack, an audible and gross noise, and Ben reacts with a small “ _ew, dude_ ”. Klaus only laughs as he shakes his limbs out.

“Like I said, it’s whatever,” he shrugs, “I’m not looking for a boyfriend, y’know. It’s not like I’m about to _come out_ to the world—”

He suddenly puts a hand to his ear like pressing on an earpiece, and holds his other hand in front of himself, as if holding an invisible microphone.

“—Klaus Hargreeves, more commonly known as _Number Four_ , is the first member of The Umbrella Academy to come out as gay! _And_ he’s only thirteen! What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

He’s doing a fake voice, deep and professional like the newscasters they watch on the tv and not at all like his _real_ voice, which is soft and higher-pitched than his brothers. He’s about to turn to face the other side and do a poor impression of himself, but Ben laughs loudly and waves a hand in his direction to gesture for him to stop. Five is _genuinely_ smiling too, a rare sight.

“Wait, wait”, Ben continues giggling, resting a hand on his stomach, “why are you the _first_ to come out? Like, you expect the rest of us to at some point?”

“Stop ruining my fake interview, Ben. These are my fifteen minutes of fame and I won’t tolerate heckling.”

“Speaking of fifteen minutes,” Five looks down at his watch— _what thirteen year old wears a watch?_ —“we’ve been out here for a while. We should get back inside.”

Klaus nods, patting down his pockets to make sure all his supplies are back in their rightful places and hidden out of sight; not like the others don’t already know he smokes, but _still_. He straightens up and starts to walk towards the backdoor.

“Besides,” Five continues, something _smug_ lacing his tone, “you should probably say bye to your _boyfriend_.”

Ben starts laughing all over again, and Klaus gives Five a weak shove and a quiet mutter of “ _fuck you_ ” before pushing past them both and heading back inside. He has to stay ahead of them or else they’ll _definitely_ bully the shit out of him for the stupid smile he has on his face.

When they leave a little later than the rest of their siblings, like always, Five leaving a tip for Agnes and asking about her new coffee brew; Klaus’ “ _boyfriend_ ” walks by and gives him an almost _shy_ wave as he passes. Agnes’ eyes go wide, as if remembering something, and then she smiles happily at Klaus.

“I’m amazed you actually know how to behave yourself, Klaus,” she chuckles at his confused expression before elaborating, “my nephew asked about you, described you as ‘ _the nice one’_ , and I guessed every single one of your brothers before I got to you.”

Five chokes on a laugh, or a snort maybe, but it’s a fucking ugly noise and the most unceremonious he’s ever been and Klaus _wishes_ he could have recorded it for blackmail purposes.

“You’ll have to come around more often when you’re free! Make a new friend!” Agnes says excitedly.

Klaus smiles back at her, a real genuine grin and not at all like he’s pretending this time, and he tries to be casual when he responds.

“I’ll try my best, Agnes.”

As they leave, he ignores Five’s cocky little smirk and teasing whisper of “ _he liiikes you_ ”, instead opting to punch him in the arm.

(He doesn’t make a new friend, or get a boyfriend. In fact, Klaus doesn’t even _try_ , and Five and Ben don’t push him to. It’s okay, he thinks, he’s only thirteen and he’s too busy for romance. It’s okay.)

 

iv.

When Klaus is twelve, he tries on a pair of Grace’s heels, for no real reason other than because he could. They were there, and he was curious, and _bored_ mostly, so he kicked his own shoes off and slid hers on.

He had looked pretty good, for a kid in oversized pink heels—a horrible clash against the blueish grey of his uniform, and the black of his socks—but he could _sorta_ walk, and he was proud of himself for that. So he runs out into the corridor, shouting obnoxiously for his siblings to come look, and peers over the bannister of the upstairs landing to look down on them.

Diego immediately raises an eyebrow when he spots the shoes, and Ben and Allison only laughed quietly to themselves.

Klaus got roughly halfway down the stairs before his ankle wobbled, and he stumbled over and fell the rest of the way down. It was _mortifying_ , plus the excruciating pain radiating out from his jaw and into his entire face wasn’t that great either.

Having his jaw wired shut for eight whole weeks, not being able to talk or smoke, or do anything really— it was fucking _hell_. Diego seems to remember it fondly, constantly bringing up the “ _eight glorious weeks of bliss_ ”, and not at all considering that Klaus thought it was eight horrible weeks of _boredom_.

When he’s fifteen, older and more carefree, a little more stoned than he’d willingly admit at such a young age— Klaus tries it again, the heels thing. He _maybe_ takes it a step further than before, moving onto an actual coordinated outfit this time; a dress, some jewellery, a poor attempt at make-up.

There’s no reason for any of this either, except for that he wants to, and it’s not like he isn’t used to fooling around with skirts and nail polish and “ _girly_ ” things, so who cares?

The heels are a better fit this time around, not quite snug yet but at least they aren’t completely falling off, and Klaus sighs as he struggles to do up the little strap across the front. This shit is fidgety, how does Grace cope, _holy fuck_.

If there’s a line, somewhere between “ _just fooling around_ ” and “ _genuinely getting into it_ ”, Klaus had crossed it long ago. He knows that already, and he could maybe place an age if he thought long and hard about his first weird gender experience, but for now he’ll just say that in this moment right here, something is happening to him.

Something pushes him over that line, far, _far_ over it, and Klaus feels odd. It’s a little uncomfortable maybe, to sit in front of the vanity and watch the reflection stare back at him as he draws a shaky line of eyeliner along his lower lids— it almost doesn’t feel like it’s _him_.

He’s already here, he’s already going for it, so he might as well fucking go for it; mascara, more eyeliner, a _shockingly_ bad attempt at lipstick. Klaus runs a hand through his hair and plays with it for a few minutes, twisting the curls between his fingers, noting how long it’s getting since he stopped cutting it. Maybe he could grow it out for real one day, see how that looks.

For now though, he stands up, a little shakily thanks to the heels that he’s not at all used to, and he tiptoes over to the full-body mirror.

The dress he’s wearing is a little too short thanks to his height— _damn growth spurts_ —and the heels only serve to make him taller, ganglier, more awkward than he’s probably ever looked in his life. Klaus has always felt weirdly uncomfortable with himself, the way he holds himself, how he looks; but this is _different_ to all of that.

This is fitting. Despite how awkward he looks, he _feels_ comfortable. Nail polish and the occasional uniform skirt have absolutely _nothing_ on this, seeing himself in an actual real dress, with make-up to complete the look. It’s feminine, it’s pretty, it’s— it’s _him_ , for once.

He lets out a bubble of laughter as he swishes the skirt, and then quickly turns away from the mirror to walk towards the door. He stumbles a little, still adjusting to the shoes, and continues to giggle at his own stupid clumsiness. And, of course, he’s totally still _high_ , but there’s an underlying euphoria in this situation and he’s having fucking _fun_ , okay?

It takes a while, slow cautious steps on wobbly legs, pacing around mom’s bedroom—if you could call it that—until he gathers the basics of walking. A simple task that takes him far too long to master, but it’s arguably a lot harder than anyone would ever think.

Klaus is super glad that he _doesn’t_ fall down the stairs this time, staying far away from them and instead deciding to pace the landing. He’s laughing to himself as the heels click along the floor, a strangely soothing noise, but it’s no surprise that it draws at least _one_ person out to inspect what the fuck’s going on.

Everyone usually ignores Klaus, lets him do whatever it is he’s doing, they’ve apparently learnt the noises that they need to ignore— but this is a _different_ sound, and it could easily be mistaken for mom; in fact, there’s no reason why hearing heels along the floor would be anyone _but_ Grace, so Klaus can understand why someone would come check up on it.

Allison comes out of her bedroom, peeking through the gap in the door, and Klaus immediately stops teetering about. He tugs at the skirt of his— _mom’s_ —dress, a quick nervous gesture of hoping it’s not _too_ short. She only stares back at him, opening the door wider, and Klaus inwardly cringes at her raised eyebrow.

Allison is probably the _last_ person Klaus would want to find him like this. Or, actually, that’d be Luther—or dad, holy shit—but Allison wasn’t exactly well-appreciated either. He’d prefer if it had been Ben, _obviously_ , Ben doesn’t ever blink a single eye at the mischief Klaus seems to get into; or Diego, who would at least be fully understanding of whatever the fuck it is that Klaus is going through right now.

But it’s not that Klaus doesn’t like Allison, because he _does_ , she’s his sister after all and only having two of them makes him appreciate them a lot more than they know. It’s just that she’s a little serious at times, stoic and _confident_ , he supposes, and her love for fashion and make-up has Klaus fearing the predicament he’s in; wearing an ill-fitting dress, caked in ugly make-up, balancing cautiously in high heels— Allison smiles at him.

She smiles, not maliciously or teasingly, and then breaks into a small fit of laughter before quickly composing herself and swinging her bedroom door open wide. She tilts her head towards the inside of her room.

“Come on,” she grins again, “I’ll fix your make-up for you, because that is _disastrous_ , Klaus.”

He smirks, giving her a casual shrug, and slowly shuffles into her room as he tries his best not to fall and bust his ass, or his jaw, _again_.

Once he’s inside her room, he takes a languid glance around at her choice of decorations; the boyband posters he was so used to all those years ago have been swapped out for actual bands, older musicians, and a few pictures of actors and film posters; there’s a bright purple feather boa hanging off her wardrobe door, and Klaus instantly thinks about stea— _borrowing_ it. She’d probably let him, too, if he asked nicely. Maybe bribe her with a few donuts or candy bars.

He settles onto her bed, dropping down with a dramatic sigh and letting the heels flip off his feet because those things fucking _kill_ , what the hell. Allison seems to understand his pain, because she shakes her head as she laughs.

“You should get some heeled boots or something,” she starts to root through the drawers on her vanity desk, “they’d be much more your style than neon pink heels, I think.”

Klaus laughs, making room on the bed and shuffling over so she can sit next to him. She’s carrying… make-up remover, he thinks, and a bag full of what he can only assume is the actual make-up.

Allison forces him to be quiet and sit still, muttering “ _I know that’s impossible for you but please try_ ”, and then gets to work with making Klaus look _presentable_. She carefully wipes under his eyes with a damp cotton pad, a hand resting softly on his jaw to keep him in place and from moving around, and then takes off his lipstick with a little more force than necessary. Klaus’ lips twitch into a grin and Allison jokingly glares back at him.

After giving him a fresh new face of make-up, applied properly and with actual _brushes_ and everything, she starts to paint his nails; holding his hands gently and painting the _nail_ , whereas Klaus usually just paints whatever he wants and cleans it up afterwards with remover. Who needs to be neat the first time when you can just fix it later?

The polish is a stark black, like he usually uses, but there’s a tiny shine to it and he realises that it’s glittery, and he _really_ likes that.

“I love this,” he lets out a sigh, “the nails, the make-up— everything. All of it. ‘S super fun.”

His voice slurs a little, and Allison raises an eyebrow at him as she continues to paint.

“You’re high, aren’t you?”

Klaus lets out a loud laugh, involuntary, and Allison quickly moves her hand away so the motion of his giggling doesn’t smudge the nail polish. He shakes his head and shrugs.

“What, I can’t just enjoy some bonding time? With my dear ol’ sister?”

He reaches forward to pinch her cheek and she only laughs before batting his hand away.

“Watch the polish,” she warns, and then puts her hands out, “come on, let me finish this, _stoner_.”

Klaus obliges, putting his hands back down on top of her palms, and she silently goes back to painting.

He doesn’t know what time it is, hasn’t checked in _hours_ , but he stopped keeping track of menial things like _time_ after Five went missing. It doesn’t really seem to matter anymore, when the house is always shockingly quiet and there’s a notable family member gone— Klaus misses everything, even the annoying little spacial jumps where Five would just go around you if you stepped in his way.

There’s not much fun to be had around here anymore, when the number one troublemaker has disappeared and left the house boring and empty. Klaus could step up, fill his role, because he _knows_ he’s annoying too, but there’s no real point to it anymore. He’s only annoying when he has someone in for the ride, joining him in his shenanigans, and without Five there’s been a distinct lack of that.

The whole family misses him, whether they realise that’s what it is or not. There’s a noticeable hole, a weird feeling of loss and an indescribable lack of _something_ in the house, and Klaus knows that it’s Five.

Daddy dearest acts as if nothing has changed, “ _no great loss_ ” he said a few days after the event, and he’d forced them all to get back to training and studying as if nothing had happened.

Klaus can’t fucking stand the empty bedroom and the lonely corridors and the open seat at the dinner table. Klaus can’t stand the fact that maybe Five’s disappearance has torn them all apart, a little, a noticeable lack of family bonding now that one of the key members of the family isn’t here.

Klaus certainly can’t stand the idea that he’d be so weak as to let this throw his life out of control, because cigarettes at ten was one thing, and weed at thirteen was another; whatever he’s doing now—he doesn’t even _know_ —is just another attempt at filling the void and also shutting up those fucking ghost voices in his head, god _damn_.

Allison snaps her fingers in front of his face, and Klaus blinks up at her in surprise.

“Zoned out on me there, séance. You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he notices the neat black polish on his nails and then wiggles his fingers dramatically, “look at this! Christ, _someone_ is a budding make-up artist!”

Allison laughs, letting out a satisfied sigh, and flops backwards onto her bed. The supplies are flung to the side and Klaus quickly drops back onto the bed too, suddenly finding himself exhausted. A little more sober than he was at the start of the day, too. How _unfortunate_.

Klaus knows that his dress is probably riding up with how he’s lying, but he can’t find it in himself to care that much. Allison doesn’t bother to bug him about it, or even question the dress _at all_ , and he supposes that with everything that’s already happened to their weird fucking family, Klaus lying here in a dress and perfect make-up isn’t that big a deal.

He’s sorta glad, actually, that their family is so fucking disastrous that something like this can slip under the radar unnoticed. That he can be whatever he wants to be, do whatever he wants, and none of them will ever mind considering it’s just typical Hargreeves family nonsense.

Allison huffs out a sigh as she glances around at all the posters on her walls, the separate closet full of civilian clothes and not her uniforms, the vanity stacked with make-up and jewellery.

“Don’t you wish we were _normal_ sometimes?” She starts, and then throws her arms above her head, “I’d love to have a regular teenage life and not… whatever this shitty version of life is.”

Klaus blinks up at the ceiling as he hums obnoxiously.

“Not really,” he says, and then grins at her confused expression, “I think you’re pretty normal, Al. Look at me!”

He gestures to himself; the thick curly hair, dyed black for the first time when he was twelve, and only curly because he accidentally _broke_ his straighteners in an incident he’s sworn never to talk about again; the make-up, the pierced ears, the _dress_ — Allison bursts into laughter.

“I suppose we’re all normal, next to you.”

“You wound me, sis. Betrayed by my own kin.”

Allison stops laughing after a little while and seems to pause then, taking in Klaus’ outfit like she’s only just noticed, and he can sense the instant hesitation. The _need_ to ask something but not knowing how, or not wanting to. He raises an eyebrow, if only to goad her into actually talking, and she sits up to lean on her forearms.

“Is this… are you—” she takes a deep breath, “like Diego? Are you trans?”

Klaus blinks, and clambers to sit up as well.

“No, no.” He pauses, “or maybe? I don’t know. I just like looking like this. Who says a boy can’t wear make-up and dresses, y’know?”

Allison nods slowly and a smile stretches across her face. Genuine, happy for him.

“You’re right,” she shrugs, “you’re still the same weird Klaus, unfortunately.”

Klaus laughs, feeling relieved suddenly and it’s a shock only because he didn’t even know he was anxious, but the tightness in his chest lessens and he feels himself able to breathe again.

They both lie back down, and Klaus realises these beds are not made for two people, with how lanky he is it’s impossible to _not_ kick Allison, but he tries his best. They stare up at the ceiling, listening to the rhythmic sound of each other’s breathing accompanied by the faint melody of Vanya’s violin, and Klaus finds peace despite the headache he can feel coming on and the _inevitable_ shitty low after the high.

“However,” Klaus pipes up suddenly, and he grins at the sensation of Allison jumping, “I _am_ gay.”

It’s quiet again for a few seconds, until Allison starts to laugh lightly. Klaus feels her hand wrap around his wrist, comforting, and he smiles up at the ceiling.

“Always full of surprises,” she says, “and _still_ the same old Klaus.”

 

v.

Klaus has had his fair share of boyfriends—if they could be called that—since he was a teenager. From sixteen onwards, when the house was too quiet and everyone was occupied with brooding and missing Five, Klaus was _high_ ; and bored and lonely and very much capable of just up and walking out the front door without being stopped. Either no one noticed him, as he’d expected really, or no one _cared_ , which was also a viable option.

He’d never bring anyone back to the house; Klaus might feel invisible and like a stranger in his own home a lot of the time, but the fear that lies deep in his stomach at the thought of their dad finding out he’s gay— _yikes_. It’s not like he probably didn’t already know, what with half of his siblings knowing and with how Klaus wasn’t exactly the most _straight_ -looking person, but bringing a boy home would be another story entirely.

So he snuck out a lot of the time, to hang out with his boyfriend of the month, quickly becoming boyfriend of the _week_ as he got older. Juggling superpowers—or just life-ruining medium abilities—with fame, and drugs, and a dysfunctional family and shitty home life— Klaus couldn’t stick a boyfriend who _actually_ wanted to be with him. He’d tried, and it always ended in heartbreak.

He doesn’t bother trying anymore, accepting his fate as a man destined to move from fling to fling, no real attachments and no real relationships. Klaus is twenty-one now, and with his last real attachment to the world gone, he lets his life spiral out of control.

Ben was his _anchor_ , the one thing holding Klaus down to a house, a family, he was the one person who Klaus knew _actually_ cared about him. And now there’s no Ben, and Klaus has nothing else left, and he fills the void with more drugs and more alcohol and more partying and more boys. It was destined to happen this way, really, Klaus is a typical poster-child for a fucked up lifestyle; started smoking at ten, moved onto weed at thirteen, started _drinking_ at thirteen, moved onto more hardcore drugs and pills by the time he was fifteen— a huge thanks to that lovely man he calls a _father_ , and the endless years of childhood trauma he’d instilled into Klaus and his siblings.

Klaus _sees_ Ben sometimes, he thinks. Even when he’s wasted out of his fucking mind, he sees glimpses of him in his periphery, always so disapproving and upset. He ignores it, blames it on the fact that he misses him, that his eyes are playing tricks on him, and does another line of whatever is laid out in front of him.

One time, when he was eighteen, Klaus decided to chance it and bring a guy back home with him, given the circumstances and the fact that no one really seemed to be _living_ in the house anymore; just a bunch of strangers under the same roof, meandering about from room to room and doing their best to avoid each other. He thought it’d be fine, and it sorta was, except for the part where Vanya might have caught onto him.

She’d heard their footsteps, late at night, and peeked out of her room to investigate. Klaus remembers her wide eyes, her glance down at his hands interlocked with another guy’s, and he remembers her saying… nothing. Only going back into her room, silent, and he’d let it go because he had no idea how the fuck to take that. He was also too high to care, really.

But like he said, he’s twenty-one now, and he’s somehow stuck in this predicament again— a guy hanging off his body, hands sliding under his shirt and then back out to grab his shoulders instead, muffled laughter and breathy whispers hushed against his neck; they’re in the hallway of the Hargreeves house and Klaus feels the déjà vu of it all settling in.

He’s suddenly distracted though, his fling—Klaus knows he has a name, he just doesn’t actually _remember_ what it is right now—pushing him up against his bedroom door and making quick work of kissing him senseless instead of letting them both get inside. There’re hot hands gripping at his hips and a warm mouth pressed against his and it’s all types of rushed and clumsy and kinda _gross_ — but it’s exactly Klaus’ thing, because he’s never been one for the slow romance, the soft kisses and the gentle gestures.

Patience was never his forte, and neither was commitment, so Klaus lets himself fall into these routines; kissing back with a passion, returning the roaming hands and the slightly heavy breathing, loses himself in all of this so he didn’t have to think about the monumental fuck-up that is his _entire life_.

At least making out in the hallway is better than obnoxiously whispering and giggling, drunken footsteps loud against the creaky floorboards, accidentally stumbling into the walls and corners— not that it matters much, because Klaus doesn’t know if anyone even still lives here, besides from Pogo and Grace. Diego left years ago, Five still isn’t back, Ben is _dead_ ; so what does it even _matter_ anymore?

Klaus lets his head drop back against his bedroom door with a sigh, and the resounding _thunk_ makes him cringe inwardly with how loud it is in comparison to the unsettling quiet of the empty house.

He cringes even harder when a door across the hall slowly opens, and yeah, _there it is_ , that fucking déjà vu. It’s around three in the morning, he guesses, but Vanya has never exactly been a deep sleeper and Klaus knows that. He could never forget the times they’ve accidentally woken her up with something miniscule, and like now, Klaus recognises the _annoyance_ in her expression when she locks eyes with him.

She’s wearing pj’s, just a black tank-top and matching pair of shorts, but Klaus doesn’t miss the death grip she has on her door handle as she glares at Klaus and his… his weird clothes, whatever you could describe them as, one of his hands resting awkwardly in the back pocket of a stranger’s jeans— a guy, notably, a _guy_ he’s hooking up with and not a girl like is to be expected from him, because he’s never come out to her before, oh _shit_.

His fling— _god_ , Klaus needs to remember people’s names more often—is blissfully unaware of the situation, too drunk or high or whatever, and Klaus would be right there with him if he wasn’t so attuned to every tiny noise in this house. He’d have ignored a door opening if they were anywhere else, he’d probably ignore a _lot_ of noises if he was anywhere else, but there’s something about this house and his childhood and the entire abnormality surrounding his family; he can’t help it when he flinches at a door slamming, or immediately seeks out an answer for an unknown noise, and he can’t help noticing the tiniest of doors creaking open.

He supposes Vanya can’t help her light sleeping and poor schedule, and she _definitely_ can’t help being awoken by mysterious noises of making out when she probably assumed the house was empty, just as Klaus did.

Regardless, he’s in the shitter now, there’s no avoiding the awkwardness and discomfort quickly washing over him, and Klaus shifts to push away the guy who’s happily trying to leave a hickey on his neck. Maybe next time, when his sister isn’t giving him _murder eyes_ across the hall. Klaus fully trusts Vanya to actually murder him one day, he can just _see_ it, and he certainly would deserve it too.

He walks the guy out, apologising breezily and using his usual charm that wins him all the fellas in the first place, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically before closing the front door with a little too much force— his hands had slipped, they’re surprisingly shaky and he can’t pinpoint _why_.

When he gets back to his bedroom, he notices Vanya isn’t standing at her own door anymore and it’s thankfully shut. He can only assume she’s gone back to bed, giving up her murder plan to catch a few more hours, and Klaus is _so_ fucking relieved that he doesn’t have to have the awkward coming out conversation at three in the morning when he’s drunk and high and extremely _tired_.

He slips into his own room, cracking the door open with a sigh and ignoring the horrible creaking—

“ _Christ_ , Vanya!” He raises a hand to clutch at his chest, “don’t scare me like that!”

She’s sat on his bed, legs crossed and hair messily pulled back into a ponytail, and the soft glow from Klaus’ fairy lights makes her look a lot younger. Neither of them are _old_ , despite how much Klaus’ aching bones seem to try and fool him, but she reminds him a little of when they were kids— the warm lighting reminiscent of one of their sleepovers, when they’d all gather in Ben’s room and build a pillow fort together, huddling under it once it was done and eating candy until they almost puked.

Vanya only shrugs at Klaus’ near heart attack, continuing to absently play with the unicorn plushie she has in her lap, and then yawns as she gently puts it back in the pile with the others. Klaus is impatient, annoying, weird, obnoxious, an “ _absolute prick_ ”; but he’s a softie, too, who can resist cute plushies?

Klaus closes his bedroom door, finally, and slips his jacket off onto the floor before tiredly crawling into bed, fully clothed. He shoves Vanya aside, jokingly, and smirks to himself when she huffs and jabs him back in an equally tired attempt at fighting. She’s not mad anymore, probably never was to begin with, and Klaus can tell because she gives up on the playfighting after a few seconds and accepts her fate; shuffling to lie down alongside him in his horribly cramped bed.

They’ve all had the same beds since they were kids, and sure they’re big _enough_ , but two grown adults is still a very tight fit. They make it work, Klaus is skinny and Vanya is short—tiny, really, he doesn’t like to make fun of her but he thinks she hasn’t grown since she was like _thirteen_ —it equals out somewhere. It’s also oddly comforting, a warmth against his side, company from a family member, something Klaus hasn’t had since Ben— something he hasn’t had in a while.

He’s tired, physically and mentally and emotionally, and he hopes he can still avoid the inevitable conversation about all of this. Having it in the morning when he’s actually somewhat alive, hungover for sure but _alive_ , would be much preferred.

“What are you on right now?” Vanya asks, voice quiet, and Klaus sighs.

Well, never mind then. Awkward conversations incoming.

“I don’t know, Van. I can’t remember.”

He’s not lying, for once, and he knows it’s probably a copout answer but he doesn’t know what else to say about it. Vanya hums in acknowledgement, _understanding_ , and then pulls a blanket around herself with a lazy sigh.

She stays like that for a few minutes, silent, and Klaus just stares up at the ceiling as he listens to her breathing and lets himself sober up. A slow process, of course, but he finds himself with nothing better to do and if he doesn’t force himself to calm down then his anxiety combined with his high might give him an actual heart attack. Or like, an anxiety overdose.

A weak joke, given Klaus’ experiences with overdosing, and it’s overdoses _plural_ because he just can’t seem to get the pesky things right. Dying seems like a simple enough task for anyone else, but Klaus will confess that his attempts at it seem to lead nowhere for reasons he isn’t quite sure of. Luck being on his side for once is almost laughable.

Vanya, coincidentally, was there the first time it had happened— when he’d overdosed. She’d been the only one to show up at the hospital, to see if he was okay, and when he’d come to and she asked him how he was feeling, he’d broke down. That was the only time he’d ever cried in front of her, and she shed a few tears of her own at the understanding of what had Klaus so upset; a colossal failure in life, even at suicide.

He supposes he owes her, really, but after that event it was no surprise to find that Vanya took the time to frequently check in on Klaus and see how he was doing. They understood each other a lot more after that, as if a pathetic failed suicide attempt had brought them closer together; the Hargreeves could never do family the easy way.

“You never told me that you’re gay, or into guys,” she says, and Klaus is immediately knocked out of his daze.

It’s not a question, he notes. He can appreciate that. Vanya might be weirdly emotionless a lot of the time, a complete opposite to Klaus, but she’s always awkwardly blunt. It works in her favour, especially at a time like this.

“It never came up,” he mutters, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars, feeling the crust of day-old eyeliner peel away. “Sorry to shock you, or whatever.”

Vanya is silent again, and Klaus continues to stare up at the ceiling— now fuzzy and with specks of floating colours thanks to rubbing his eyes too hard. Maybe he really has shocked her, maybe she wasn’t expecting him to so easily agree to it, because Klaus _does_ have a tendency to instantly deny things and pretend they never happened; not like he’s good at it, because he’s _not_. Klaus is a _shit_ liar.

He feels a foot against the side of his leg suddenly, a sharp kick that was far too hard to be accidental, and his shin still aches when he gasps a wounded “ _hey!_ ”. Vanya ignores him, rolling onto her side to stare at _him_ now instead of at the ceiling.

Klaus is still tired, and he’s not feeling all that high anymore, in fact he feels it quickly shifting to a _low_. He feels vulnerable, and the shaking of his hands isn’t drug-based for once, and the pounding of his heart isn’t either. It must be audible, with how fast it is, or Vanya has just been psychic all along, because she wordlessly wraps a hand around Klaus’ wrist.

“I think after so many years of your _shit_ , nothing can shock us anymore, Klaus.” Her tone is soft and as tired as Klaus feels, but her thumb strokes idly across his wrist and it’s _comforting_.

“For the record,” she’s almost whispering now, “you can always talk to me.”

It’s heart-warming, really, and Klaus would believe her if it wasn’t so _naïve_. Vanya knows it is, too, because Klaus doesn’t ever talk— none of them talk, to _anyone_ , let alone to each other. Who are they trying to fucking fool? None of them even live in the same house anymore, and if they do, because Klaus doesn’t even _know_ if they do, then they’re all _real_ good at avoiding each other.

So he won’t talk, and she won’t pry, and they’ll continue their lives like this because that’s how it’s been for years now; since Five left, since Ben died.

Vanya is a warm presence against his side though, her steady breathing a grounding sound against the clawing darkness of his bedroom and the nagging voices in his head that grow increasingly louder with each step towards sobriety, and sure he might not _talk_ to her, but at least she’s _there_.

It’s enough.

Klaus falls asleep soundly, comfortable despite the lack of space in his childhood bed, and finds himself without nightmares for once.

(He wakes up hungover as _fuck_ the next morning, limbs aching and neck sore from such a shit sleeping position, and when he falls out of bed due to the spinning of his vision, Vanya laughs for the first time in a long while.

Klaus laughs along with her.)

 

vi.

Besides the incident where he fell down the stairs while wearing Grace’s heels, Klaus can also think of a couple more times that he and Diego shared some _interesting_ moments together. Moments that implied probably a lot more than either of them were willing to verbally address, and moments that explain why the two of them seem happy to just accept whatever the other is doing, not questioning it— because really, Diego _should_ have found something weird about the heels thing, and if he was anyone else he definitely would have.

But he’s not, he’s _Diego_ , and he understands Klaus on a level that’s certainly different from any of their siblings.

When they were both eight, and Diego was still _Number Two_ , he had wandered into Klaus’ bedroom to find him absolutely decimating his uniform, a pair of shorts to be exact. Klaus remembers it vividly.

“Hey Number Four— what the hell are you doing?” He’d asked, tone confused.

Klaus only blinked up at him, tilting his head questionably, as if the answer was blatantly obvious.

“Trying to make a skirt, but it appears I have _no_ understanding of how fashion works,” he throws the torn-apart shorts onto the floor and flings himself back onto his bed, defeated.

Diego closes the door and shuffles inside the room some more, coming to perch on the edge of Klaus’ bed almost _nervously_ , and peers down at the mess of fabric on the floor.

“You _want_ to do that?” He asks, and Klaus sits up in confusion.

“Huh? Do what?”

“Wear— wear skirts?”

Klaus tries to look at his face, but Diego is still staring at the floor and refusing to look up. His eyebrows are pinched tight, eyes almost burning holes into the shorts with how hard he seems to be glaring, and Klaus doesn’t really know a lot about Diego or about like, anything in general, but he thinks he might understand what’s going on here, at least a _tiny_ bit.

As a boy who wears skirts, or is _attempting_ to wear skirts and failing miserably, and a boy who’s seen his fair share of fashion magazines and wondered why he can’t wear girls clothes, why that isn’t _allowed_ — Klaus had come to a decision at some point in his early years that he _is_ allowed to do whatever he wants, even if that’s doing “ _girly_ ” things.

And Diego… Diego has always been the same. Klaus can’t remember a time where Diego has ever been stereotypically feminine; choosing to prove his strength against Luther given the opportunity, training extra hard by himself and making sure to demonstrate his “ _awesome wrestling moves_ ”, constantly tying his hair back and avoiding wearing his uniform where he can because he “ _doesn’t like how it fits_ ”.

The pieces slot into place, like they probably should have a while ago given how _similar_ Klaus feels, but he sighs and shakes his head anyways.

“You can wear whatever the fuck you want, dude.”

Diego stares at him for a while then, a weird pause— something Klaus has come to expect from him considering his stutter, but he still feels slightly uncomfortable given the situation. He doesn’t expect to see tears welling in Diego’s eyes, or his hands shaking, and Klaus quickly panics. What the hell is he supposed to do now?

“Y-you—” Diego takes a deep breath, and Klaus is so thankful that he started to talk, “you can have my skirts if I can have… if I can have your s-shorts.”

Klaus instantly grins, if only to ease the tension, and nods frantically.

“Let’s swap, then.”

A few weeks later, when the exact circumstances of what this means has been discussed amongst everyone—not dad, god fucking forbid they get to that yet—Klaus and Allison had cut Diego’s hair for him, against Five’s better judgement.

He said that they shouldn’t do this, that maybe they should all go with Diego to just get it done professionally, but Allison had snapped at him and told him “ _no one’s going to cut a kid’s hair without their parents there and just six other kids loitering, so this is our only option_ ”.

Five had shut up immediately, such a rare and well-appreciated event, and then walked away to find a better pair of scissors.

Klaus did most of the hacking, he _desperately_ wanted to and Diego had let him, so he’d pulled his long hair back and dramatically cut through it until Klaus was holding up a lone ponytail, no longer connected. It was fucking _surreal_. He continued to cut, chopping off huge chunks and letting it all fall to the floor until Allison nudged him out the way and snatched the scissors away from him.

He and Five watched on in amazement as Allison fixed it up, as best as she could anyways, going solely off what she saw in magazines and on the tv, and also mostly what she thought looked good. And it did, actually— or it looked as good as a haircut from two eight-year-olds could possibly turn out. They did an _excellent_ job, despite what Five might recall from that day (and despite what Diego might say, too).

Grace had fixed it up even _further_ , giving Diego an actual nice-looking haircut, short and proper and fitting right in alongside the rest of his brothers— that was the first time that Klaus had ever seen Diego cry, and that’s a fucking _achievement_ , considering the amount of times Klaus had watched Diego accidentally cut himself with his knives.

He had hugged him, to try and be comforting even though he knew they were tears of joy, but he didn’t exactly know how else to react. Both of them ended up laughing at the gross snotty mess Diego had made on Klaus’ shoulder, and Ben had told them they were being “ _the cutest brothers ever_ ”. They simultaneously told him to shut up.

On their tenth birthdays, when they were given _real_ names, Klaus finds himself pretty content with his.

Klaus; it’s German, it’s _cool_ — it fits him, he thinks. He could definitely look in the mirror and see himself as “ _Klaus Hargreeves_ ”, but maybe he’s always looked in the mirror and wanted to see himself as anything _but_ “ _Number Four_ ”, so he might be biased. Still, Klaus is his name, and he likes it a lot.

The others were discussing their names too; Allison commenting on how pretty “ _Vanya_ ” is, and Vanya getting embarrassed and saying “ _Allison is a nice name, too_ ”; Ben and Luther questioning why Five refused a normal name, and then nodding in mild understanding at his casual response of “ _we’re far from_ normal _, I personally don’t see why a name change is in order_ ”.

Diego wanders into the lounge and everyone instantly looks up at him, expectant, because all they’ve been doing is sitting here and killing time as they wait for him to return. Grace follows behind him, smiling, and Diego looks up at her with a grin and a nod.

“Everyone,” she puts a hand on his shoulder, “this is your _brother_ , Diego.”

Klaus instantly finds himself smiling, and he thinks the rest of his siblings are too.

 _Diego_ ; no longer _Number Two_ , no longer who everyone had thought he was, no longer the person he was _expected_ to be— just their cool, knife-throwing brother, Diego.

So it’s no shock now, after thirty years, to think about how Diego has always understood a lot about Klaus; his mannerisms, his speech patterns, his fashion and make-up choices, his general refusal towards standard masculinity.

In return, Klaus understands a _lot_ about Diego, and knows he can trust him with pretty much anything. They’re brothers, after all.

He finds himself easily letting Diego into his life, despite how shit it might _currently_ be.

“There’s something I need to do and the whole pesky thing doesn’t seem to work unless I’m sober.”

“Is this about conjuring the one you lost?”

Klaus lets out an involuntary sigh, more of a gasp really, surprised at how easy he is to read.

It’s funny, that it’s happening like _this_ ; his brother binding him to a chair in their shitty rundown attic, deciding that for some reason _now_ is the time to strike up a meaningful conversation, to get in some family bonding time while Klaus is tied down and Diego is busy being the one to tie him down— both of them unable to run away from any uncomfortable situations, not like they _would_ , but you never know. Klaus is a bag of surprises, sometimes. Diego knows that after all these years.

Klaus doesn’t say anything though, and instead nods almost _frantically_ , waiting for Diego to catch his movement. They lock eyes briefly, and Diego goes right back to tightening the ropes around his legs.

“What was her name?”

Klaus sighs again, takes a deep breath in as his eyes drift shut, letting himself zone out— memories of barely a year crammed into his head like they actually lasted a lifetime. He supposes they did, really, because time-travel is a confusing thing to understand and he still hasn’t exactly come to terms with the entirety of whatever happened to him. It’s meaningless, the specifics of the whats and the whys and the hows. All that matters are the memories.

He thinks of Dave’s hand in his while they’re sitting in that rickety old truck, meeting properly for the first time, the gentle tone of his voice when he introduces himself and the soft smile he gives when Klaus shares his own name.

He hears _The Doors_ playing somewhere in the back of his mind as he focuses in on that night in _Saigon_ , Dave’s blue shirt unbuttoned slightly and revealing a peek of tan skin that Klaus thinks he probably shouldn’t have noticed. They bump into each other on the dancefloor, backs clashing in a way that was all too deliberate; turning around as if in slow-motion to stare at each other, a hint of amusement tugging at both their lips.

They drink. They take shots with their arms entwined. They’re soldiers, it’s masculine, manly, it’s _hetero_ ; women dancing around them as they pound alcohol into their systems—

They’re in the back room, or a quiet hallway, or a private room perhaps, Klaus didn’t take exact notes on their surroundings; not with the distant hum of music, the faded thrum of bass notes and drum beats, the warm lighting and Klaus’ skin also running hot as he inches closer to Dave. It could just be the alcohol, the high, but he knows that feeling better than anyone. The burning touch of Dave’s hand coming up to cradle his jaw has _nothing_ to do with liquor.

It’s gentle, something that Klaus isn’t used to, and it’s _perfect_. Kissing Dave like this, slow and leisurely, tucked away in the corner of an almost-silent room— Klaus thinks that maybe this is why he exists in the first place. Like he was made purely for this moment.

He opens his eyes with a shaky exhale and tries not to panic when the memories fade away.

“ _His_ name was Dave.”

Diego stops moving. Klaus stares straight ahead and doesn’t dare to even blink.

“We soldiered together in the _A S_ _a_ _u_ valley, in the mountain of the crouching beast.”

Diego stays still, paused as he listens, until he looks up slowly and meets Klaus’ eyes. There’s something there; understanding, compassion, _sympathy_.

“Well Dave must have been a very special person,” he starts to tighten the ropes again, “to put up with all your weird-ass shit.”

Klaus snorts then, grinning, and lets his laughter bubble out of him subconsciously. It’s nerves, he’s _nervous_ ; no matter how high he is, or how much he trusts Diego, or how many times he comes out, it never seems to get any fucking easier. He’s _thirty_ now and this is still as difficult as when he was twelve and testing out the word “ _gay_ ” for the first time.

But Diego only continues to tie some more knots, silently adjusting the rope he’s working on, and Klaus takes it as a sign to keep going. Not like he’d ever pass up an opportunity to gush about Dave, anyways. The words tumble out of his mouth instantly, like he’s suddenly running on autopilot.

“Yeah,” he giggles, “ _yeah_ , he was— he was kind, and strong, and _vulnerable_ , and…”

Klaus stops, a brief pause to catch himself and gather his thoughts.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, and then repeats it louder, more confidently, “ _beautiful_. And I was foolish enough to follow him all the way to the front line.”

It’s not true, the foolish part. Klaus _is_ a fool, arguably, he’s heard it enough times from dear old daddy and even from his siblings, and he knows he’s made some _objectively_ bad choices here and there— Ben reminds him of that on a daily basis, _hourly_ actually.

But to say following Dave to the front line was a foolish decision, to associate _anything_ about Dave to a foolish decision— Klaus is lying, and he won’t tolerate his own choice of wording. Dave doesn’t deserve that, after everything.

It’s not foolish to fall in love.

Diego looks up at him suddenly, expression pensive and thoughtful and not at all matching the mildly shocked tone of his voice when he speaks.

“You fought in this shit?”

Klaus lets a smirk fall onto his lips, and he attempts to shrug despite the binding tying him down.

“Oh yeah, baby.”

Diego grins back at him, genuine amusement evident in the tiny sparkle of his eyes. Klaus knows him too well by now, because what kind of brother would he be if he didn’t? (That’s a rhetorical question, don’t dare answer.)

“How’d they let you do that?”

“Let me? War couldn’t take enough bodies, _please_.”

Klaus chuckles weakly, a little too forced if he does say so himself, but it’s not like Diego would question it. He’d notice, sure, and he _has_ if the subtle quirk of his eyebrow is anything to go by, but the subject matter is enough of an explanation as to why he might be forcing a dry laugh.

His eyes flutter closed for a second as he takes in a deep breath.

“Including his.”

He shakily exhales and stares straight at the wall ahead of him. He doesn’t react to Ben’s sudden shift, the quick flicker between varying emotions; confusion, melancholy, straight up _sadness_.

Ben hadn’t known, of course, how _could_ he have known if Klaus hadn’t told him? He wasn’t going to either, or maybe that’s a lie because he tells Ben everything and he can picture himself inevitably breaking down about this at some point in the near future— if the world wasn’t going to fucking end, that is.

Klaus wasn’t ever going to burden Ben with something like this when he has his own problems to deal with, bigger problems, like being fucking _dead_.

Instead he focuses on the tightness of the ropes around his body, keeping him locked into his seat, and pointedly ignores the tightness _inside_ his body— the squeezing of his lungs, the sudden lack of oxygen, the oncoming wetness behind his eyes.

Blink, breathe _, don’t think about it_.

Diego stands up, and Klaus rushes to talk.

“Hey, look at us! Loggin’ in some quality _bro time_ before the end of the world.”

“Yeah, might as well,” Diego pulls suddenly on a rope and grunts softly with the force of the tug. Klaus doesn’t feel it. “Everyone I like is already dead.”

His tone is sombre, dismissive and quiet, and Klaus doesn’t dwell on the implication that Diego doesn’t like him, because he _knows_ that he does or else none of this would be happening.

And he knows what this is all about now, too, when Diego lets him ramble about Dave with a genuine interest and a small sense of pity, listening carefully and then picking his responses with purpose, watching Klaus almost break down and giving him a look of understanding and sympathy— because he _does_ understand, he gets it, to lose someone you love.

“Ah yes,” Klaus tilts his head back briefly to glance at Diego, to show that he _is_ aware of the situation for once, “the lady cop.”

Ben stands up, walking away without a single glance in Klaus’ direction.

“Yeah,” Diego lets out a huff as he works on tying the ropes behind the chair, “mom too.”

Ben disappears suddenly, and Klaus can’t do anything but let him go. He closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath in, and then opens them again on the exhale, as if Ben would instantly be back and standing right there.

He’s not, _of course_ , and Klaus grits his teeth in a vain attempt at staying grounded. Staying _composed_.

“I let them both down.”

Klaus shifts his head only slightly, to get a glance at Diego in his periphery, watching him wordlessly finish up the ropes.

“So here I am,” Diego claps a hand onto Klaus’ shoulder, “alone with you.”

Klaus turns his head fully now, and Diego turns his too, their eyes locking as Klaus furrows his eyebrows and pouts in a vaguely childish way, hoping that he conveys gratitude— thankfulness, _love_ ; for his brother, for doing all of this for him, for listening to him, for being here when no one else is.

Diego smiles back for a split second, _understanding_ , and then pats his shoulder before standing up. He starts to walk away, and Klaus suddenly shifts.

“Ah _shiiiiiiit_ ,” he whines, and Diego spins around whiplash fast. His eyes are wide, and Klaus wants to laugh at the display of concern because Diego is _surely_ about to change his tune in a few seconds.

“What?” His tone is bordering worried, and Klaus was right to assume he was concerned. _How sweet_.

Klaus hesitates for a moment as he glances down at the ropes secured perfectly around his _entire_ body. He gulps audibly.

“I need to pee.”

Diego is frozen in place, until his eyebrows furrow and his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow into a _very_ annoyed glare. _There it is_.

Klaus bites back a grin, tries not to squirm uncomfortably in his bindings, and pointedly stares at the wall when he hears the tell-tale sign of floorboards creaking— Diego walking towards him. He prepares himself for the worst.

Brotherly bonding at its _finest_.

 

vii.

“So he and I—”

“Wait,” Luther interrupts, “you’re _gay?_ ”

He shifts his gaze between each of their siblings, his face contorted into what Klaus can only _assume_ is disbelief as every other person in the room stares back at him with a mixed combination of amusement and confusion.

It’s as if they’re trying to say “ _yeah, duh_?” or “ _you didn’t know_?” with their facial expressions alone, and it’s something that Klaus can _easily_ read and pick up on, especially since Five is a _master_ of that look. He was probably born perfect at it to be honest, placed on the Earth one day with nothing but the mastery of a perfect resting-bitch-face and the adorable talent of being a huge _asshole_.

“Seriously? _All_ of you knew already?”

Five takes a purposely slow sip of his coffee, eyes narrow as he raises an eyebrow at Luther, and Allison puts a hand over her mouth in a vain attempt at muffling her laughter.

Diego shrugs nonchalantly, pursing his lips briefly in a silent gesture of “ _yeah_ ”, and then goes back to whatever it is he was doing before this conversation started— cleaning his knives, apparently, _of-fucking-course_.

Even Vanya nods, a sheepish tilt of her head but a hint of amusement in her small smile, and Klaus finds himself smiling along with her.

Ben, despite not being able to actually be seen by anyone, joins in on the charade, and perhaps his invisibility is what persuades him to go completely over the top with it; dramatically throwing his arms in the air and yelling “ _come on!_ ”, which Klaus suspects is due to Ben being the first one to ever know about him being gay and having to wait like, _twenty years_ for it to be known by everyone else.

Maybe coming out to his siblings hasn’t been too bad after all, and no matter how long it’s taken him to get around to all six of them, he’s done it.

They all start to laugh, Allison’s giggling bubbling out beyond her hand, too loud to hide now, and one by one everyone else starts to join in; Vanya huffs out a small noise, Diego chuckles, and Five smiles wide behind his coffee mug. Luther grins too, shaking his head in amusement, and when Klaus turns to Ben, he gets a stupid double thumbs-up in response.

He’s _finally_ free.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! i know my timeline of events is off here and there, like their ages and when they left the academy and the ambigiousness of bens death.. but for the sake of it lets roll with whatever nonsense i came up with
> 
> feel free to hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/transtsukki) or [tumblr](http://tsukkikages.tumblr.com/) and say hey sometime, maybe :3c


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